


Someone in the Crowd

by startingatmidnight



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Cruelty to Gerard Butler, Established Relationship, Explicit Musical Content, F/M, Fluff, Fuckruary 2021, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, if you dont like musicals this probably isnt the fic for you and im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startingatmidnight/pseuds/startingatmidnight
Summary: Lucifer owns five Blu-Ray copies of 'La La Land'.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 24
Kudos: 104
Collections: LUCIFER_FICS_





	Someone in the Crowd

It was, basically, the best night of his life.

He’d been more used to the New York club scene when he first came to Lux. L.A. had seemed somewhat tame by comparison. Yeah, L.A. had the Hollywood intrigue and the fair weather, but bitter cold and high-rise living breeds a tougher partygoer. It’s not that basement concerts and leather parties _don’t_ exist in L.A., but there’s a whole different feel: the crowds are full of aspiring actors vaping their way from Uber to Uber, dissipating at the first sign of rain. Evan’s used to following random strangers across Brooklyn to a house party, just to get out of the bitter cold. He kind of misses that informal feeling to it, like the city is laid out for him. Travelling in L.A. takes so long that letting yourself go for the night has to be rigidly scheduled and timed. 

Which is to say, he’d been kind of sick of clubbing in L.A. when he came to Lux, and he’d only done it to try and get to know his Angeleno friends better. The line had taken an hour and a half, and he’d had to check his bank balance before ordering a drink. 

Lux was weird, as clubs went. It's stuck halfway between ‘jazz bar’ and ‘Berlin warehouse’. In truth, it's barely a nightclub at all. The floor isn’t sticky, the furnishings all look you-break-it-you-bought-it expensive, and the bar wall is criss-crossed with large, fancy and extremely breakable orange lightbulbs, but…

But. There was something of the feel of Lux, from the sharp-eyed bartenders to the way the clubgoers held themselves, adjusting their clothes to look their best, eyes searching for something in the low light as they move. Dancers shadowed by professional dancers. Every person judging the other. Evan had nursed his obscenely expensive Old-Fashioned and waited for his friends to catch the bartenders’ eye, staring out over a railing at a pole dancer swirling in circles.

An arm in an expensive suit jacket leaned against his. 

Evan looked up, and made eye contact with the most attractive man he’d ever met.

Tall and sharp-featured, eyes subtly lined with kohl. He held himself with self-assured pride and confidence, as thoughtlessly authoritarian as a born monarch. Evan wouldn’t have claimed to be any expert designer fashion, but he didn’t need to be to know that the charcoal suit the man was wearing almost certainly cost the same as three months of his rent. 

If Evan had closed his eyes and fantasised, imagined perfection… It would be him.

The man held eye contact. He smiled like a scorpion about to strike, all white teeth and poison.

“Looking for something?” he purred. British. Evan had never been wild for the accent before, but there was something about it in this man’s mouth that sounded like sin. Mouth suddenly too dry to speak, Evan tried to take a sip of his cocktail, almost spilling it with the effort. _Holy shit,_ he thought, _it’s like looking at every male model at the same time._

“Uh,” Evan said. “I wasn’t looking for something _before_.”

“Hm,” the man said, looking Evan up and down. Evan got why half the club had messed with their clothes so much before: right now, the urge to adjust his jacket, his belt, something, _anything_ , was nearly overwhelming. 

“And now?”

“Right now I’d let you do anything you want,” Evan said. He had no idea why he just said that. He was here with _friends_ , he had no idea who this guy was, it was…

Unpredictable. Exactly what he’d wanted. Everything he’d desired.

The man smiled with all his teeth. “Anything, you say? A dangerous proposition to offer the Devil.”

“The Devil?”

The man leaned close as the music reached a fever pitch, loud enough to make Evan’s heart beat to a new pace. 

“Lucifer Morningstar,” he said. Evan was a transplant, but he’d been in L.A. long enough to have heard of the enigmatic owner of Lux. He shivered despite the heat of the club.

“Evan Brinley,” Evan replied. He felt small in Morningstar’s unblinking gaze. 

“And what do you desire from me, Evan Brinley?”

“Evan! Earth to Evan!”

Evan groans. “ _What?”_

Jess shakes her head in exasperation, leaning against the wall. It’s taken an hour, but they’re finally close to the entrance. “I asked whether the club was _worth it,_ not for a play-by-play of fucking the owner.”

“I couldn’t leave out the salient details!”

“So glad you’re using the one time I’m not in NYC to try and booty call a millionaire. You’re such a good friend, I feel so welcome.”

“I’m _not_ ―”

“―The theme is _La La Land_.”

“And?”

“You _hate_ La La Land.”

Evan sighs wistfully. “He did this thing where he tied me to the bed and dripped wax―”

“―Evan. Dude. If you abandon me to bang a satanist before I’m happily throwing up in an Uber, I’m going back to your apartment and throwing out every Thomas Harris book you own, _even_ the first editions, that is _not_ an empty threat.”

Evan searches Jess’ eyes for any sign that it’s a joke. It is not. They barely drank before they arrived, so getting Jess to a throwing-up-in-an-Uber state is going to take three hours at bare minimum.

“Fine,” he sighs, adjusting his tie for the millionth time since they got here. “I will not try to abandon you until you either meet the Emma Stone of your dreams or you’re drunk and crying.”

“Now that’s more like it.”

Yeah, okay, Jess has a point: Evan _does_ hate La La Land. His opinion hasn’t improved after waiting in a line full of cut-price Ryan Goslings and Emma Stones, either. Jess is shivering in her knee-length blue dress, and he’s not much warmer in a thin shirt and black tie. They look absurd, in the swathe of identikit dressers, but Lux is mercenary when it comes to a theme, and nobody gets away with dressing outside of it. Evan had kind of hoped to go to the masquerade, or something else dark and mysterious, a theme-appropriate evening to find Lucifer Morningstar again. Unfortunately, work doesn’t accept ‘want to have sex with a probably-insane millionaire club owner again’ as a reason to leave early. While it _was_ the best sex of his life, Evan thinks that taking holiday days to try and get fucked by a satanist would likely be a low point he’d never recover from.

So it’s been a year, maybe a year and a half, since he’s seen the inside of Lux. Jess sways her dress vaguely to the music as they walk in. There’s a _way_ different feel to last time. The dark shadows and swirling pole dancers have been swept away by glowing lights and closer tables, and the dancefloor has a baby grand in the dead center. Everywhere Evan looks, Emma Stones and Ryan Goslings are making conversation over some bright, sharp electro swing. 

That frisson of tension and danger is gone, and Evan would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed. And, frankly, confused. He couldn’t claim to be an expert on Lucifer Morningstar (besides as a witness to his skill at domination and wax play), but this doesn’t exactly strike Evan as a theme that someone who calls himself the Devil would enjoy. Morningstar’s clearly not hurting for money: why bother himself with something he doesn’t desire?

Jess nudges Evan out of his reverie.

“Quit flashbacking, Memento,” she says. “We’re here for drinks, dancing, and meeting aspiring actors who think the movie is about _them_.”

“I can do that _and_ search for the Devil.”

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah, get over there with your tall stupid body and get us drinks.”

Somehow, the cocktails are even _more_ expensive than last time. When he re-emerges from the crush at the bar, several songs later, feeling several thousand dollars poorer, Jess grabs him by the crook of the elbow so hard that he almost spills them everywhere.

“Hey!”

“Look!” she says, pointing to the place everyone else is looking, and oh, _huh_ , the John Legend song from La La Land that’s just started playing is _actually_ being performed by John Legend, right in the middle of the floor. Evan quietly revises his estimation of Morningstar’s net worth by a few zeroes. 

It’s such a surprising sight that it takes a few seconds to notice the pianist on the baby grand, playing the opening bars. He’s wearing a white shirt and a loose black tie, just like the rest of the Ryan Goslings. If it wasn’t for how he looks better than Ryan Gosling _ever_ has, Evan probably wouldn’t have noticed him at all.

Lucifer Morningstar’s hands dance over the keys of the piano as if he’d been born to play. He’s straight-backed at the bench, smirking out at the crowd instead of looking at what he’s doing. Evan’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Jess nudges him insistently.

“That’s the guy, isn’t it? From the movie? The singer! What’s his name...Chrissy Tiegen’s husband!”

“Hell if I know,” Evan says. The music shifts into an electronic sound. Lucifer stands from the bench and gestures expansively to John Legend, before sweeping into the crowd. Evan takes a half-step in that direction before he remembers himself. Jess frowns at him.

“We’ve got a good view right here.”

“Mm-hm,” Evan agrees, stepping back to the railing. He pushes Jess’ drink into her hands insistently and wonders if she’ll be insulted if he orders her three more right now. Going bankrupt on L.A. cocktail prices might just be worth it, if he can get Morningstar to use his own tie to bind his wrists together. 

‘Start a Fire’ is maybe halfway through when Jess, swaying indulgently, tilts her head in confusion and then nudges Evan again.

“Are you _serious_ ,” she says. “Look.”

He doesn’t need her to point: the same person has caught his eye. In the course of waiting in line tonight, Evan saw at least twenty people get turned away from Lux for not dressing close enough to the theme, three of whom were _actual cover models_ , and yet there’s a woman making her way through the crowd wearing a loose red button-up and dark jeans. 

“The _fuck_ ,” Jess laments, looking down at her screen-accurate dress in despair. “What did she do, bribe the door?”

“They can’t _be_ bribed,” Evan says. They definitely pocket the cash, though. He takes his phone out and starts filming, just for something to do that isn’t thinking about Lucifer Morningstar and the tie around his neck.

Then John Legend’s microphone cuts out. 

And then the music stops. 

The crowd murmurs in confusion as a confused John Legend is hustled offstage by some harried-looking stage manager. 

Lux is silent, musicless, as the lights flicker and lower, bright blues and yellows fading to a warm orange. 

Lucifer Morningstar walks back onto stage, looking for all the world like he didn’t just abruptly kick John Legend off mid-song. He strides smartly across, raising his hand slowly, extending it to a person in the crowd. Many hands reach out, but he only takes one.

The woman in the red shirt and dark jeans steps forward, her hand in his, glancing between Morningstar and the crowd uncomfortably. Lucifer leans forward and down, whispers something in her ear. Evan can’t see the woman’s expression, but he can see Morningstar’s.

There’s a slight downturn to the club owner’s eyebrows, a questioning look on his face. The woman’s dark blonde ponytail bobs as she nods. She turns and briefly kisses him. Lucifer straightens, fiddling with his tie idly, walking away and sitting at the bench.

The eyes of Lux are fixed on the woman as she tentatively steps forward and leans against the body of the piano, her own eyes flickering across the crowd and the blue glow of camera phones on faces.

Lucifer Morningstar turns his head to the piano and begins to play.

* * *

Much like she’s become familiar with ‘Cats’ against her will through knowing Ella, Chloe knows ‘La La Land’ through knowing Lucifer. 

The same as Ella with ‘Cats’, Lucifer initially pretended to only have an ironic like of the musical, claiming the soundtrack was “right behind ‘It’s A Small World’ and the Barney theme song on Hell’s Top 40”. He’d sardonically hum ‘Another Day of Sun’ while stuck in traffic on the way to a crime scene.

Eventually, a long standstill on the freeway led Lucifer to hum the entire of ‘Another Day of Sun’ and then unconsciously go _straight_ into the next song. He instantly overcompensated by calling the film ‘the worst thing to happen to movie musicals since Gerard Butler opened his mouth’. Chloe, who happened to have a soft spot for ‘Phantom’ and little love for ‘La La Land’, started an argument that lasted halfway across the city. By the end, Lucifer ended up talking for _a literal hour_ about the minutiae of the film’s production in an attempt to prove it was marginally better than ‘Phantom’, and it was clear there was nothing ironic about it. Maybe he thought it was _objectively_ bad, but he sure as hell doesn’t think so himself.

And for a while, that’s as far as her theory goes.

It takes the release of the ‘Cats’ film to make Lucifer cross the Rubicon of admitting to it.

Ella’s ironic love of ‘Cats’ spiralled into a full-blown obsession when the nightmare that was the movie came out, and the three hour argument that followed their trip to the cinema led to Lucifer casually noting that he had no less than five Blu-Ray copies of ‘La La Land’. 

In classic overcompensatory Lucifer style, he’d _immediately_ announced to the incredulous group that he had a ‘La La Land’ night at Lux the next week. Like it was the only reason he owned five copies. (Not that Chloe could think of even _one_ reason to own five copies of the same movie, but according to Lucifer, people who enjoyed Gerard Butler’s singing don’t “get to have opinions”.) 

True to form, the next day Lux’ Instagram page had updated its schedule, and Lucifer gleefully called up John Legend at a crime scene, wandering circles around a corpse as he talked him into an appearance. Mid-call, grinning, Lucifer had glanced over at Chloe and dropped the smile, finishing the call in as business-like a manner as he was capable of. 

Really, Chloe hadn’t been sure why he was so cagey about liking it. He’s in L.A.: half the people in L.A. think the musical is about their own life. It’s not her favourite film in the world, but it’s well-respected, and the songs are okay. She’s not sure why he feels the desperate need to pretend that he despises something he so obviously likes.

Well, other than it just being ‘A Lucifer Thing’, which is how she categorises a lot of what Lucifer does. Like when Lucifer calls John Legend while phone-call-pacing around a dead body, for instance. That’s an example.

She gets the feeling Lucifer may have made a point of scheduling the event on a night when he knows she’s busy, but her schedule gets rearranged about halfway through the week. Chloe doesn’t tell him. Lucifer is good at making things happen at the last minute: if she announces she’s going to turn up, Lux might suffer an unfortunate mains issue or maybe a spot of spontaneous combustion. Now they’re dating, she probably ought to talk to him outright instead of sneaking around, just tell him that it’s alright to _like_ things, but… she’s curious. 

She wants to see what he’s planned when he doesn’t think she’s looking. 

First of all, she gets the dress code wrong, big time. She’s not concerned about it, because Rick at the door just lets her in with a shrug and a nod, but she’s getting a lot of dirty looks from people who have all clearly sourced the right outfits from scenes in the movie. It’s a sea of women in blue and yellow dresses, men in white shirts and grey pants and black ties. Any hopes of secrecy are gone: her red shirt stands out no matter where she stands.

Second, Lucifer is wearing a _tie_.

This shouldn’t be as shocking as it is, but she’d seriously scanned the room of men in ties looking for a man without one, and she’d almost missed him in the crowd. Lucifer wears a bow tie when he’s at a fancy event that requires it, but he removes it the moment he can. Chloe’s never really questioned it; Lucifer lives in a perpetual state of unbuttoned-ness.

Judging from how Lucifer spots her from across the floor and almost jumps out of his skin, immediately adjusting his cuffs, tie, and the way his shirt collar sits on his neck, he’s not feeling particularly relaxed in it right now. She smiles at him and waves. Lucifer’s mouth opens, closes. He disappears into the crowd like he’s been shot from a cannon.

Chloe makes a disappointed estimate that it’ll be maybe twenty seconds before he appears, sans Ryan Gosling tie, to inform her that they should go upstairs and that the party is boring anyway. 

She’s wrong on every single count. It’s ten seconds before John Legend is practically dragged off the stage and Lucifer’s striding out, tie still on. Proffering his hand.

Lux lies silent around them.

Chloe’s not wild about the idea of the crowd watching her, but she can see the nervous strain in his jaw, the slightly frantic expression in his eyes. Like he fears she might turn him down and walk away. She takes his hand and he draws her out, leans down and whispers.

“I thought you were otherwise occupied tonight.”

“I was,” she says. “It was cancelled ”

A pause. “Something that should be celebrated, Detective. May I play you a song?”

The last thing she expected him to want to do tonight. She nods, pulls back and smiles at him, his Ryan Gosling cosplay and the hopeful look in his eye, and even with hundreds of people watching she can’t resist leaning up for a quick kiss. Lucifer blinks and straightens, fiddling with his tie the entire way to the bench. Chloe can see that there’s approximately a _million_ camera phones on them right now. She leans against the piano and tries not to think about it.

If time had stopped, in this moment, and she had been asked, Chloe would have said that Lucifer was about to try to out-sing John Legend on ‘Start a Fire’, or maybe just start doing a ‘Phantom’ song to make a point.

Instead, Lucifer shifts incrementally on the bench, and then—

Chloe’s mouth goes dry when he drops his head to the keyboard. _He never does that_. He likes to watch people watching him. Does he not want to see the crowd right now?

Does he not want to look at _her_ right now?

Lucifer plays.

There are no lyrics to it, nothing to sing. It’s not upbeat or jaunty or Lux-ish. It’s the piano riff Ryan Gosling plays all the time in the movie, the romantic lilting one. The unmic’ed sound is so small in the club that, around her, she can hear the breath of the hundreds of people surrounding them. It’s a hesitant, pausing song, and Lucifer plays it with slow, deliberate arcs of his hands. She watches him as he plays. As the song continues, as the crowd whispers and films and sips their drinks, she sees Lucifer’s mouth twitch a little. A cast of something flits across his face.

It’s not an emotion she’s seen enough on Lucifer’s face to positively identify, especially not in the low light and with the angle, but he looks uncertain _. Embarrassed,_ even. 

As if he’s putting more on show than he intended.

_Oh_ , Chloe thinks. 

_Half of L.A. think that ‘La La Land’ is about them._

And much as Lucifer likes to claim he’s above a lot of mortal failings, projecting himself _way_ too much onto something isn’t exactly a trait he _avoids_.

Lucifer finishes the relatively short song with a sharp flourish. The crowd awkwardly claps around them. Chloe recalls that the film is _literally_ about an actress and a pianist who wants to own a club. There’s an entire song about Emma Stone (actress) claiming she feels nothing at all for Ryan Gosling (pianist, aspiring club owner). Lucifer has projected his own emotions onto _random criminals_ with _astronomically_ less similarities.

Five copies on Blu-Ray. The film came out right about when they met. _Holy shit, did he wear out the discs?_

Isn’t this just like him? Lucifer will offer minute-by-minute commentary on ‘Hot Tub High School’ even when he _isn’t_ asked to, but the sappy movie musical romance that reminded him of _them_ is such a dirty secret to him that even now they’re together he won’t even _look_ at her when playing one of the songs.

God damn it. 

She needs to go learn lines. She needs to go learn lines _right now_.

Lucifer stands up from the bench. Chloe pushes down everything she feels about the crowd and the phones and takes a sharp step forward, grabbing him by the tie and dragging him down to her lips. She feels a brief surprised inhale before he returns the kiss, one tentative hand grasping at her elbow. She pulls back and ignores the renewed clapping as best she can.

“See you upstairs,” she says, and makes the fastest beeline to the elevator she’s ever made, leaving Lucifer stunned and still in the center of the floor. The swathe of Stones and Goslings split apart before her as the lights go up and the music returns to the club, and she’s already got her phone out before the doors have closed. She googles the lyrics frantically and recites them in her head, playing the song on the tinny speakers of her phone as she paces across the penthouse, until she’s reasonably sure she’s got the timing locked down. She puts her phone away and seats herself on the piano bench.

She’s ready with maybe twenty seconds to spare before Lucifer jolts out of the elevator. He looks over at her on the bench, some semblance of a confident smile on his face.

“My, my,” he says, gesturing at the complete mess she’s made of his tie. “If all I needed to do was provide a grab handle, I would have put one round my neck _years_ ago. Fancy a second go on the bull, then?”

He’s a little closer to home to a _very_ particular dream of hers than she’d like. Chloe clears her throat and shakes her head.

“Um, no, actually. I was wondering if you’d…” she trails away, patting the bench beside her. She searches his expression, tries to see if she’s judged this right. “...Give me an encore.”

If Chloe had asked to tap dance on his balls, she’s not sure he’d look so blindsided. He blinks down at her, stepping forward, hand unconsciously pulling at the tie.

“...Really?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I have a song in mind.”

“Unless you’ve spent years pretending to enjoy ‘Phantom of the Opera’ just to spite me, Detective, and as it’s more likely than _actually enjoying it_ , I’m not ruling that out, I was under the impression you _hated_ ‘La La Land’.”

“I wouldn’t say _hated_ ,” Chloe hedges, because yeah, she’s not exactly a fan, but it’s taking on a new significance now that she’s figured out that it’s Lucifer’s sappy unrequited-love movie. “I enjoyed hearing you play. I didn’t enjoy the audience.”

“Right,” Lucifer says distantly, joining her on the bench. He raises the fallboard and hovers his hands over the ivory, like he’s never seen a piano before. “What do you want me to play?”

“City of Stars.”

Lucifer stares at the keys.  
  
“And you’d like me to… _just_ play, or…?”

“Sing too.”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look at her. He just places his hands down and begins. There’s maybe ten seconds of the quiet, repeating piano phrase before he starts in earnest. There’s a definite strain to his voice when he sings, but the way he plays the song is fluid and easy: as if he’s played the song so often that he doesn’t have to think about what he’s doing with his hands.

“City of stars… are you shining just for me?”

Chloe knows the second the words leave his mouth that she’s judged this a _hundred_ percent right. This is his guilty pleasure I-have-a-crush song. The faintest hint of a red flush has started on his ears.

“City of stars,” Lucifer continues, at ease on the piano but still refusing to look her in the eye. “There’s so much that I can’t see. Who knows…”

He’s a little late to start the next line, as if he doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“I felt it from the first embrace I shared with you…”

She rushes a little into the first line, but from Lucifer’s starstruck reaction, lifting his head to stare at her, he couldn’t have cared less if she’d sung it backwards in Swahili.

“That now,” she sings, “Our dreams may finally come true.”

A brief pause filled with Lucifer’s playing. He’s no longer looking at the keys.

“City of stars,” she sings. “Just one thing everybody wants. There in the bars, and through the smokescreen of the crowded restaurants.”

She can’t look at him when she sings the next line, it’s just a step too far to do that and not get embarrassed by how sappy she’s being, but she pushes her shoulder a little into his arm, hoping he gets the idea.

“It’s love,” she sings, “Yes, all we’re looking for is love, from someone else…”

“A rush,” Lucifer sings, voice tremulous.

“A glance,” she replies, forcing herself to look at him. His smile is so wide and bright that embarrassment lifts from her, her throat unclenching.

“A touch—”

“A dance—”

They sing the next verse together. As performances go, it’s not going to win any awards: Chloe’s never _really_ paid attention to the song until less than five minutes ago, and Lucifer clearly knows it back to front and could sing it perfectly in his sleep. Still, it makes her heart swoop and batter against her chest and ache as they make their way through the final line of their joint verse, smiling at each other—

“‘Cause all I need’s this crazy feeling, a rat-tat-tat on my heart…”

Lucifer blinks, eyes flickering back to the keys. Levity bleeds away from his voice, replaced by something soft and vulnerable.

“...Think I want it to stay.”

Chloe’s throat closes up. Lucifer’s hands don’t falter, but he’s playing so softly that she wouldn’t hear him across the penthouse. His eyes have returned to the keyboard.

“City of stars, are you shining just for me... City of stars…”

She’d not planned on doing it, but it feels natural. She reaches out and rests a hand on his cheek, tilts his head up until she can look him in the eyes.

“You never shined so brightly,” she finishes. 

There ought to be a final piano flourish, but Lucifer appears to have forgotten how to play the piano. His eyes are wide and shining, awestruck. Like he’s living something that he’s worn out five Blu-Ray copies imagining.

She kisses him.

For a moment, Lucifer doesn’t even reciprocate the kiss: he’s frozen in place.

Then, a split-second later, Chloe’s been picked up and pushed against the keyboard, her legs hitched around his waist. 

Lucifer’s tongue swipes against hers, greedy and wanting, his hands pulling at her shirt so insistently that he rips the fabric instead of the buttons. She wants to complain but she’s kind of jealous that she can’t do the same thing to his shirt. Instead, she tangles her fingers into the stupid tie he’s wearing and yanks it like she’s ringing a bell. Lucifer makes a needy sound into her mouth, discordant with the key she hits as she shifts on the piano. 

He sits back down and drags her onto his lap, the piano’s fallboard crashing shut behind her, his fingers tangling into her hair and dragging it out of its ponytail. She breaks away for air, finally opening the last of his shirt buttons before deciding to eschew getting him to pull it off to instead attack his pants. Lucifer unlatches her bra one-handed, the talented asshole, while she uses two hands just to figure out how to unbutton a button and pull down a zip. In her defence, he’s already unzipped _her_ jeans and put a hand down them, so she’s kind of distracted.

When she glances down and sees that he’s practically curved his wrist sideways to try and get his hand on her, she bats at his arm. He looks up from where he’s currently trying to inhale her neck.

“Bed,” she prompts. Lucifer flicks his eyes between Chloe and the piano.

“Not bloody likely,” he says, getting both hands on her waist before lifting her, carrying her, and laying her out on the piano top. The wood is cold at her back and hard on her head, and she wriggles against it uncomfortably, but she’s getting the feeling that Lucifer’s now in the part of his personal fantasy that destroyed all the DVDs. She isn’t going to dissuade him from it.

Shirt hanging open, wrangled tie still around his neck, Lucifer no longer looks screen-accurate to any scene in ‘La La Land’. Chloe’s not sure if porn parodies of ‘La La Land’ exist, but Lucifer could definitely be in one of those right now. In his own head, he probably is. He yanks off her shoes, socks and jeans like they’ve personally offended him, then pulls her hips to the edge of the piano top. Her legs dangle and bump against the varnished heartwood. He stares down at her, laid out on the piano top, face slack and awed. Chloe wonders if she should spread her hair out dramatically or something.

“Glorious,” he says, hands running down her hips, thumbs curving slowly towards the insides of her thighs. “Absolutely glorious.”

She can’t help but needle him, just a little. The tie _is_ hilarious. 

“What, no movie quotes?” 

Lucifer squints down at her incredulously. She’s clearly knocked him out of his fantasy a bit.

“Are you mocking me?”

“No, no,” she says, because she’s not, he’s just… very sweet, sometimes, when he’s like this. He gets easy to rile up. “Just thought you’d, like. Say some movie quote right about now."

His hands still on her, hooked into her underwear. His mouth twitches in the way it does when he’s offended. 

“Here’s a game,” he leers, “If you can say even _one_ line from the movie, I’ll eat you out right now. If not… well, I might take my time, Detective. Who’s to say?”

She screws her face up in thought. “...’I hate jazz?’”

Lucifer sighs. “I cannot believe you.”

Her underwear is gone and his head is between her legs before she can say anything else.

* * *

“I’m not,” Evan explains for the millionth time, “ _Sad_ about it! It was great sex but nothing— not—”

“—Personal,” Jess suggests.

“Personal!” Evan says, throwing his arms up. “Exactly!”

The Uber driver clears his throat. “Uh, are you Jess?”

“Yes,” they both say simultaneously. 

“Hilton Hotel?”

“Yes,” Jess says. “You’re crashing at mine, yeah?”

Evan looks mournfully at his dead phone. He shouldn’t have spent half the night uploading club night videos to Instagram. “Yeah.”

“I can put in another destination if you want.”

“No,” he says, “I can’t remember my street name.”

“...Do you still save all that to your notes page?”

“You _know_ I have a bad memory, Jessie!”

The Uber driver pulls away from Lux and Evan gives it a last mournful look. 

“So long, rich sex satanist,” he sighs.

Jess pats his knee. “He’s a theater kid now, Evvy,” she says. “He’s lost to the theater kids.”

“Why do all the great men get lost to showtunes?”

“We will _get_ you a man, Evan.” Jess squints into the middle distance. “A man who _isn’t_ called Lucifer.”

The Uber driver glances in the rear view mirror.

Jess sighs. “Look, I didn’t get my Emma Stone and you didn’t get your Ryan Gosling, but… I had fun tonight, Evan, this was a lot of fun. I’ve missed hanging out with you, you need to catch up with your friends more.”

“I _do_ ,” Evan agrees emphatically. He might have had a lot more to drink than Jess did, by the way he’s sliding around in his seat. “I’ve had a really good night, I’ve missed you a lot. I’m so glad you’re in L.A.”

“I am not, Evvy. I do _not_ know how you live here. A guy talked to me tonight? Vape in his mouth the whole time. Like he was Clint Eastwood with a Juul.”

Evan shakes his head, staring out at the city. “La La Land, man.”

* * *

Someone filmed them and put it on Instagram. She’s been linked it by six different people already and it’s barely eight in the morning.

The comments are identical everywhere.

_if youve literally ever been clubbing in la this is like watching proof of aliens_

_1.3K_

_is that the LUX GUY are you kidding me_

_1.1K_

_John Legend’s face when he gets dragged away_

_5.6K_

_Is that HOT TUB HIGH SCHOOL girl?_

_548_

_the owner of lux has a girlfriend, let that sink in_

_231_

_for those not in the know the club in the video is Lux. an LA nightclub slash the easiest place to get f’ed up without the cops being called. dude on the piano owns the nightclub and is literally known for 2 things: he calls himself the devil and he fucks whatever moves. The idea that lucifer morningsta (rlly) would interrupt his own club (and john legend????) to sing a cheesy movie song to his girlfriend(??/) is why angelenos are losing there minds_

_973_

_Thanku noe the comments section makes sense_

_23_

“Guess we’re public, now,” Chloe says. Lucifer drags a hand over his face, and then for good measure pulls the sheets entirely over his face.

“Phone ban. I should have implemented. A bloody phone ban.”

“Hey, the comments think you’re sweet.”

Lucifer unburies himself and glares at her phone, swiping up incredulously. “That one says ‘is that the lux guy, are you kidding me’. Detective, my reputation is _ruined_.”

“And?”

Lucifer groans, wrapping his arms around his head like he’s going to smother himself. “I’m known as the king of _pleasure_ ,” he says mournfully. 

“Okay, if you were _ever_ known as that, I’m definitely not calling you it. Anyway, _I_ think you’re sweet. It was a really nice night.”

Lucifer un-pretzels. “Really?”

“Really. Sing the songs, host another night, whatever. If I can like ‘Phantom’, you can like ‘La La Land’. You don’t _have_ to live up to your reputation all the time.”

He opens his mouth to argue, and she puts a finger over his lips. 

“Not around _me_ ,” she says. She smiles. “‘Sides, you made a handsome Ryan Gosling.”

He blinks. Chloe watches as a panoply of emotions flit across his face and then tamp themselves down.

“I’m much more handsome than Ryan Gosling.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chloe gets up and wanders to the shower.

“I _am_!”

She snorts, yells across the penthouse. “If you say so!” She strips down and runs the rain shower, stepping under the warmth and heat. The water pressure in Lucifer’s bathroom is so good that she doesn’t hear him until he’s right behind her. His arms encircle her, his breath hot on her ear.

“I’m _trying_ to put conditioner on, Lucifer.”

“You’re _trying_ ,” he agrees. “I take it last night was agreeable for the little Gosling fan in your heart, then?”

Sometimes, Chloe could empty the Hoover Dam into Lucifer’s brain. 

“Lucifer,” she says, twisting around in his hold, “Are you seriously gonna pretend that last night was _my_ fantasy?”

“Well,” he says, staring at Chloe’s conditioner bottle, then the wall. He doesn’t find an end to the sentence. 

“ _Five_ Blu-Ray copies,” Chloe reminds him, replacing the bottle and running the conditioner down her hair.

“ _Well_ ,” Lucifer says, and once again trails off. 

“Main characters remind you of someone?”

Lucifer kneels down in the shower.

“You are _not_ gonna distract me.”

“Mm- _hm_ ,” he hums, licking up the inside of her thigh.

“Just saying, there’s a whole song where Stone says to Gosling that she feels literally nothing for him and then they end up in a relationship. I did figure that part out, Lucifer.”

“Mia,” Lucifer corrects.  
  
“What?”

“Mia and Sebastian, the characters have names, you know.”

“Not the point.”

“By all means,” Lucifer says, his breath hot on her, his hair flopping down his forehead in the water, “Get to the point.”

“I’m just saying it’s _fine_ if you wanted to act out— huh. If y.... Lucifer. If you wanted to do a scene from… from a romance movi-i-e. Oh. Mmm. _Mmm_. A little higher. More— _yes, exactly like that_. Uh. If you— you’re _not_ gonna distract me, asshole— that’s not an invitation, stop that— If you had a thing for that movie because it reminded you of us, that’s— oh. _Oh_. Lucifer. _Lucifer_.”

The only thing that keeps her from buckling over and cracking her head open on the bathroom wall is the fact that her boyfriend has supernatural strength. He chuckles, steadying her while she recovers, biting gently at her hip.

“Your perseverance under pressure is impeccable, Detective.”

There’s conditioner in her eyes now. She tips her head to the ceiling and lets the water wash over her, catching her breath. She steps back from him and he stands, going to leave. She grabs his wrist.

“Hey.”

He looks down at her hand. He frowns. “Yes?”

“I told you,” she says. “You’re not gonna distract me.”

She kneels down.

“I’m gonna guess,” she says, “You’re not imagining Emma Stone doing this.”

“Well, she’s a very beautiful woman, I wouldn’t— _mmmm_. _Yes_ , darling. You look incredible right now, I... No. I wouldn’t say I have any… specific Emma Stone fantasy— _oh_. Absolutely amazing. Yes, do… _yes_. No, it’s you, of course it is, you’re… so good at this, Detective, oh… Mm. _Mmm_. Can you blame me for wanting to act it out, darling? I… yes, this is what I was imagining, the whole time, w— oh. _Oh-h_. Detective. I’m close. I— _Chloe—_ ”

Thankfully for her, he doesn’t need her to hold him up, or they’d both be in the ER with injuries she’d never, _ever_ want to explain. 

He runs a hand through her hair as she pulls back, panting down at her in disbelief.

“Do you…” he trails off. “Did you want me to arrange a ‘Phantom’ night too?”

Ah, he’s figured it out. She stands up, leads them out of the shower and dries off, uncapping her mouthwash. He runs a towel through his hair until it’s sticking up at all angles. She looks him up and down.

“I wouldn’t say no to ‘Angel of Music’.”

“Ah,” he says, eyes widening. Then he sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “A Gerard Butler fetish. Some desires simply cannot be fulfilled, Detective. Try as I might, my singing is just far too excellent.”

“Shame,” she says, staring up at the ceiling in feigned despair. “I’d love to hear you with a Scottish accent.”

Lucifer blanches. “Detective, that’s a joke, isn’t it? That’s a joke?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“Are you wearing a wire? Is this a ploy?”

“Sing for me, Angel of Music.”

“This is _not_ how ‘La La Land’ ends.”


End file.
